


A Silver Fawn and Blackened Stags

by MageOfCole



Series: The Northern Wolf, a Southern Doe [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Jon Arryn, BAMF Cersei Lannister, Baby Harry Potter, Bad King Robert Baratheon, Bad Parent Robert Baratheon, Bad Parenting, Child Murder, Child Renly Baratheon, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Fuck Robert Baratheon, Good Uncle Renly Baratheon, Harry Potter is Helaine Baratheon, How not to react to the first sight of your child, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Stannis Baratheon, Reincarnated Harry Potter, Robert Baratheon's A+ Parenting, Stillbirth, toxic marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MageOfCole/pseuds/MageOfCole
Summary: Robert Baratheon's first sight of his daughter
Relationships: Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark
Series: The Northern Wolf, a Southern Doe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1418488
Comments: 53
Kudos: 683
Collections: Favorite Reads





	A Silver Fawn and Blackened Stags

**Author's Note:**

> AKA Jon Arryn regrets not putting Ned on the throne, Stannis is ready to throw hands, and Renly gets a baby

_**The Northern Wolf, a Southern Doe** _

_**A Silver Fawn and Blackened Stags** _

When Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, and the Rebel Conqueror, returns to the Red Keep after a three day-long hunt, it’s to the frantic whispers of servants. He ignores them, dismissing them because servants are _always_ frantic about something – there’s probably a shortage of sweet cakes or something equally unimportant – but it’s when Jon Arryn meets him with a faintly disapproving frown that the young King comes up short.

“Robert,” Jon greets him, “Your Queen gave birth three days ago.”

Robert can faintly remember a Lannister rider approaching him on the first day of his hunt, but he had brushed the lad aside, not allowing him to speak in favour of the massive boar he had set his sights on.

“A son?” Robert asks dismissively – Baratheons have given birth to sons for generations, it was widely seen as proof of them holding the favour of the gods – already making plans for another hunt, though he knows that he’ll need to hold a celebration in honour of his heir, but Jon shakes his head.

“A daughter.” Robert grunts scornfully – _must be the Lannister’s dirty blood_ – moving past his foster father and towards his chambers as he unbuckles his armour, but Jon’s hand grabbing his arm pulls him to a halt. Jon is staring at him with hard blue eyes, and it’s the expression on his face that makes the King stop more than the man’s grip on his bicep. “Robert, _go_ meet your child. You didn’t return for the birth _or_ the naming, and if you don’t make an effort to introduce yourself to your firstborn, it _will_ be seen as an ill omen for your reign.” Jon barks, “The situation is already precarious _enough_.”

“What do you mean by _that_ , Jon?” The Baratheon King growls, and his Hand glares right back.

“A stillborn son, but a living daughter.” The older man tells him, “The servants are saying it’s a sign from the gods. There’s already rumours being spread that they’re punishing you for the deaths of the Targaryen children, because of how she looks-”

“She deformed?” Robert scoffs, bristling at the mention of the dragonspawn runts, but Jon shakes his head. “Then it’s fine.”

“ _Damn it, boy_ – She looks _Valyrian_ , Robert!”

Robert freezes, going still as the Hand’s words register; _Valyrian_ – the girl, his firstborn, looks like a _Targaryen dragonspawn_. “ _What_?”

“If you would just _acknowledge_ the babe, your _daughter_ , we could counter these rumours!” Jon snaps as the dark haired man yanks his arm from his hold. “All we need to say is that your grandmother’s Targaryen looks skipped a few generations before resurfacing-”

“We will _not_!”

“ _Robert_!” Jon bellows, drawing the Baratheon to a halt once more at the fury in his voice. “You cannot ignore that it was your Targaryen blood, _your grandmother_ , that won you the throne, instead of it being passed to the Velaryons!”

“I won the throne through _war_!”

“You may have won the war, but you were given the throne sorely because of your bloodline, you blasted fool!”

Robert’s eyes grow cold as he straightens to loom over the older man, “Are you calling your _King_ and fool, Lord Arryn?”

“I’m calling my _son_ a fool!” Jon says angrily, “The only reason why the Lords didn’t rebel against your claim was because of who your grandmother was; _Rhaelle Targaryen_ is who gave you the Seven Kingdoms! _She_ is the only reason why you aren’t _openly_ considered a usurper! With Rhaegar’s line dead, and Rhaella and her children missing, you have the best claim.”

A burning fury spread through him at the name of the man who stole his Lyanna from him, and he spits; “You mention that bastard's name in front of me again and I’ll have you hanged for treason!”

“ _Gods damn it_ , Robert!” Jon snaps, “Why won’t you listen to me! Go see your daughter!”

“Must you yell so barbarously in the middle of the corridor?” A cold feminine voice interrupts the heated exchange as Cersei sweeps around the corner, “You’re frightening the poor serving staff. There will be new rumours within the hour.”

“What do _you_ want, woman?”

A perfectly groomed golden brow lifts calmly, and Robert turns to meet his wife’s haughty stare, “I thought, _husband_ , that since you missed our daughter’s naming ceremony, you’d want to know that name I have given her.” She sniffs disdainfully, and Robert glares at the presumptuous woman. “Your daughter, Your Grace, and the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, Helaine Baratheon.” Cersei states mockingly.

A bloody _Lannister_ name.

“Well,” The golden haired woman states, “I _must_ be off, I have a court to attend to.” In a graceful sweep of her crimson skirt, the Queen glides away, ignoring her husband’s furious snarl.

“Where’s the girl?” Robert says brusquely, making an effort to keep his voice quiet as he glares at the damned woman’s retreating back, ignoring Jon’s frustrated sigh.

“In her nursery.” Jon replies lowly, and Robert grunts in response, turning and striding down the corridor, ignoring the sound of his foster father’s hurried footsteps to keep up with him. “I hope you’re planning on being a little more _pleasant_ with the babe.” The man scolds, “Children are sensitive to tempers, they require _delicacy_.”

“I can be _delicate_.” The younger man growls, and gets a sarcastic, “ _I have no doubt”_ , in response from the Lord of the Vale as servants scurry out of their path.

He reaches the recently replaced oaken door to the royal nursery, new wood lighter compared to the ancient oak of it’s frame, and the King pushes his way into the chamber, absently casting his eyes about the room, and ignoring Jon’s minute flinch at the sight of the discoloured patches on the red stone wall that no amount of cleaning would be able to hide.

Blue eyes land on Stannis first, his immediate younger brother seated silently on an ancient rocker with an ankle resting across his knee, stabilizing the arm that cradled his hand as he flicked through an old tome. His brother’s stormy eyes leaving the words of his book to meet Robert’s stare, only to move away with in impersonal grunt in greeting.

The coos and giggles of an infant fill the room, paired with a child’s laughter from where Renly is laying on the ground, feet kicking as he plays with the baby’s clenched fists, occasionally drawing them to his lips to nibble playfully on the small fingers, much to the babe’s delight as she shrieks. His entrance, however, has drawn his youngest brother’s attention and the boy of nine namedays turns to smile at him brightly.

“Welcome back brother!” Renly greets, rolling to sit up and pulling the baby with him, balancing her on his lap with surprising care from the boisterous lad. “How was your hunt?”

“Successful.” Robert states blankly, blue eyes travelling down to his brother’s lap to study the infant – his _daughter_. She’s a tiny little thing, with creamy skin flushed pink from laughter, baby blue eyes bright with life, having yet to settle on a colour; she’s dressed in a little white slip with a lace collar and a matching bonnet – and escaping to frame her chubby face, is a wispy curl of silver gold hair. “ _This_ the babe?”

Renly beams, gently taking the girl’s tiny wrist to guide her arm in a wave, “Say hello to your father, Helaine.” The boy coos, getting a burble in response from the baby.

Stock still, Robert continues to stare, watching the silver curl bounce against his daughter’s forehead, heart pounding in his ears, fists shaking furiously at his side as he considers how easy it would be to pluck the infant from his brother's lap and drown her, how easy it would be to crush her delicate little bones in his grasp - watching the smile melt off of his youngest brother’s face as he draws the suddenly silent babe closer to his chest and shies away from the King’s wild eyes, the sound of Stannis’ book snapping closed barely audible over the sound of his blood rushing in his head as the older of his younger brothers quietly stands from his seat to move between his brothers.

Robert’s head snaps backwards, physically jolting away from the sight of his brother’s chest when it blocks his view of his daughter, Stannis’ eyes frigid as he stares him down, challenging him. With a grunt, the King turns on his heel, away from his brothers and daughter, and striding from the room.

(He doesn’t look at his daughter for another year, doesn’t look at her until her eyes settle on an emerald green and her hair darkens to a burnished gold before finally settling on a deep black.)


End file.
